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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269926">Scopes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roofie/pseuds/Roofie'>Roofie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A very kind person called this a character study, Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Pining, Shower Sex, Temporary Death - Promise, This came from a place of stupidity but turned into something serious, Video Tapes, Voyeurism, it's just love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:47:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roofie/pseuds/Roofie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A world apart, Nicolò sends Yusuf a surprising series of tapes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The First</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Where they are doesn't matter. That it's only him and Nile, and has been for months now, is hardly really a care. Time is a funny thing when you'll really never run out of it. It imbues a strange, almost impossible level of patience, and redefines boredom as something of your own making. They are waiting for the signal. They are waiting to be reunited. Joe finds he only wishes it wasn't so cold at night.</p><p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>During the day the sun scorches, they lay the ground work, they establish allies and potential threats, find new fixers and pass off names to the Copley to check. They count guns and then disregard them, because once the bullets are spent and they aren't dead, they won't be much use to anybody. Essentially, they keep busy. But even immortals must sleep, and the heat of day gives way to biting chill.</p>
      <p>So, Joe and Nile sleep together most often these days, huddled under the same bundle of blankets. They make sure her bonnet stays fixed whilst they talk and make each other laugh, and fall asleep with smiles. He's truly happy to know this 'baby', as Andy had called her so long ago. A formidable woman in her own right, with biting wit, charisma and nerve. A soft heart too. Perhaps <em>too</em> soft... they're all too soft. Even Booker. So soft. He misses Nicky.</p>
      <p>Nile eats up every story he can ever tell, strictly PG13, just as Nicolò would appreciate. How they met, the bloodshed and malice worn away to confusion, desperate self-realisation, and tenderness. Their first forays into mercenary work full of mishaps and idiocy, their first kiss as awkward and life-changing as it was, meeting Andy and coming to terms with the vast amount of time that now lay out before them, the devastating failure of trying to save Quynh, and searching for Booker so he wouldn't have to be alone. It doesn't matter how often he tells them either, it must be in the dozens by now, Nile still listens and smiles, and lets him reminisce. Joe is sure he tells many of their stories with obvious rose-tinted affection, something only the eyes of time can truly permit, but who can blame him? He is in love with this life, and the people in it.</p>
      <p>The thing Joe is struggling with though, albeit quietly, is that they are <em>only</em> stories. Whilst a memory, still cherished, it is nothing compared to the warm touch of a hand, the rumble of a happy voice, or a loving hug. There is nothing but the picture painted in his mind's eye. In the middle of one of these nights, then, with Nile curled away as she often does once warm enough, Joe receives a video message. His heart leaps with hope that it might finally be time to come home, but his mouth turns a little dry instead when he sees the contents. His mind is reeling with questions that are altogether unimportant in the grand scheme of things. <em>How</em> did he film this? Where? And <em>when</em>? The <em>why</em> was patently obvious.</p>
      <p>It plays on a loop, because it's only a few seconds long and there is no audio (<em>thank the stars</em>). Joe just watches himself climb atop Nicky on a threadbare sofa. The angle is odd, taken slightly from behind and severely to one side, really the whole thing is askew, like wherever the camera was it had fallen over. The zoom is atrocious too, allowing only glimpses of limbs or faces, and not because the camera itself moves, but because they are moving too much in front of it. The colour of the grainy footage is tinged with that awful bluey green associated with impersonal surveillance tech- Joe's thinking too much about it. The video restarts.</p>
      <p>Nicky's hair is long. That dates things a little. When did he last have hair like that, in a time when video cameras were actually in existence? In the last three decades at least... the 90s? Recent then. And Joe smiles as the clip starts all over again. He holds his breath and watches Nicky's tongue slide into his own mouth, hands curling into the fabric of Joe's shirt, as his own fingers can be seen running through grubby hair. Joe finds himself licking his lips, trying to mimic the pressure of a kiss. The footage loops.</p>
      <p>Now Joe has never considered himself fool enough in love to say that Nicky has never had a bad hair cut. He has, in fact, had some abysmal creations sitting atop his cranium. Joe, however, has considered him fool enough to say <em>nothing</em> about them when they occur. His love would not change with the length of a hair. And after spending many years watching Nicolò struggle with self expression, he would rather enjoy the excitement of change on his face than the fall from a judgement too harsh.</p>
      <p>Joe always did appreciate Nicolò with the longer styles, though. The one on screen being taken lovingly in his own grip, playing out again and again for instance, was one he found particularly pleasing. Maybe it's because their hair is so different. After all, his own tightened curls are nothing like Nicky's gentle wave. There is no <em>comparison</em>. Both had been discussed, many times over the years, and both had been deemed beautiful, but both certainly are different. Yusuf feels the thickness of his own hair between his fingers and longs for the smoothness of Nicky's.</p>
      <p>He watches Nicolò kiss him, again and again, rolling onto his side, back to Nile and sighing. The message he sends, perhaps an hour later, isn't in English, or Nicolò's lovely Italian, but in his own mother tongue. It is always easier to describe Nicky in those words, in those sentiments. He tells his love how much he misses that hair in many more elaborate sentences than can be described here. One more loop of their love graces his eyes, before he closes them to sleep, knowing Nicky will send nothing back. Nicky has already said what he needed to, as he often does, with no words at all.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Second</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The phone is a burner today, and Joe's hands shake whilst he dials. The line rings once, twice, three times before Nicolò answers, and Yusuf's whole body sags when he hears his lover's voice. There are a thousand things he wants to say, a million, more; so many little details and anecdotes he wishes to tell him all at once. Standing out in the dark, though, stars glinting uncaringly overhead, Joe knows that's not why he called.</p><p>"Nile died today." It's hardly a mutter, and the responding beat of silence gives his heart the chance it needs to scream.</p><p>"I'm sure that was exciting." Nicky's voice is pointedly neutral even in its gentle sarcasm; he has never really succeeded in talking Yusuf out of guilt, just as Yusuf has never managed to talk him out of his, "How is she?"</p><p>"Sleeping." It had been an awful error in judgement on his part.</p><p>He cannot apologise enough, even though she has <em>insisted</em> she is fine. Death <em>always</em> hurts, and they all know it, so even though she insists, tonight is one of the few nights when she has pulled his arms around her to sleep - in a fresh safe house, several kilometres away from the old one. It had reminded him so much of Nicky, too much in fact.</p><p>"So, why aren't you?" Nicolò's tone is low, quiet, obviously he is not alone but he is also in no rush to get off the phone.</p><p>And Joe bitterly, lovingly thinks<em>; because even though it is always I wrapped around you, you are ever the first to curl into me</em>; but says, "I wished for you."</p><p>"<em>Sono qui</em>." There's a flood of freely given affection behind those little words, painfully so.</p><p>"But you're <em>not</em>." Yusuf hunches and slides down into a crouch under a weight of his own making, "And I don't know how to help."</p><p>"Help? Why would she need help, my love?"</p><p>"He slit her throat, Nicolò." Yusuf is rubbing his eyes, breathing heavily, "It was just like her first-"</p><p>"Shhh." And he can almost feel Nicky stroking his hair, a memory, a comfort, "I can think of no greater succour than your company."</p><p>"Nicolò..."</p><p>"Yusuf, if she blamed you, she would have shunned you." He can always see straight into Joe's thoughts, even from just the tone of a voice, "Blame yourself as you must, ensure as best you can that it will never happen again, but do not shy away from her. It will assist in nothing."</p><p>"<em>Twahashtek</em>." Yusuf is wiping away tears now, because he can be vulnerable with Nicky even when separated by thousands of miles and open seas.</p><p>"<em>Sono qui</em>." Nicky's tone is gentle, before teasing, "Good Lord, get to sleep you silly old man. Anyone would think you don't know how to live without me."</p><p>And just like that, Nicky has made him smile, even laugh a little. The line goes dead shortly after, in that oddly contented way it only can when there is fondness between those on either end of the line. And, rising, Joe crushes the burner beneath his foot. Straightening up, he goes back; back to the hole he has to hide in.</p><p>Nile sleeps on, fitful and uneasy, buried under threaded blankets on a rickety wire cot. Joe watches, fretting still, only slightly appeased really. He chews his thumb and fidgets, unable to settle anywhere for some time. He really only takes a seat when he hears the laptop chirrup. The screen luminous, even garish in the dark.</p><p>Joe paws the mousepad and opens the notification just received. He is <em>not</em> allowed to play with any of the other settings (and the less said as to why the better). It's an email from Mr Nobody if the blank sender box is to be believed. However, the beautiful intricate form of his own language written out for him, which he whispers to himself with a weak grin, could only have come from Nicky.</p><p>أحلام سعيدة</p><p>There's a video file attached, simply titled 'headphones - if you please' and Joe is an obedient man. Thankfully, the required accoutrement have not been spirited away or lost in some dark and distant corner, they're simply laid out on the table already. So, Joe plugs the jack in, and opens the file. He is left with a similar, if not identical collection of questions to ones he has had before. Whilst the <em>why</em> is still impeccably obvious, <em>how</em>, w<em>here</em>, and <em>when </em>are becoming rather maddening. Regardless, the content makes him <em>miserably</em> happy.</p><p>The audio quality is rather poor, but at least this time there's any sound at all. It is badly balanced, full of white noise, but the reason for that quickly becomes clear; to allow Joe to hear things that make his hair stand on end. This clip is quite a bit longer than the last, but still utterly bizarre in its composition. Most of the frame is taken up by Nicky's upside-down face, <em>stars his face</em>, as it teeters over the edge of cot? A sofa arm? Something low and arguably uncomfortable.</p><p>He can hear Nicolò breathing, or perhaps it would be more apt to say he can hear Nicolò <em>struggling</em> with breathing. Small haggard pants, fervid little gasps. His eyes flit open and closed as Joe watches him rock to a rhythm he personally knows <em>very well</em>. Not once does Nicky look at the camera, and Joe is almost positive that, at the time, he did not realise it was there (which begged the question; what did the camera <em>look like</em>?). Joe shakes his head because, once again, he is thinking too much.</p><p>Leaning back in his chair heat thuds through his veins and down to his cock when he sees Nicky's mouth curl. It would be easy enough for a stranger to mistake the expression for a snarl, only a lover might see how it is too dazed and lost to hold any malice. When Nicky's tongue darts out to lick at lips, Joe finds he needs to do something with his hands. Rubbing the back of his neck with both, heavily against the base of his skull, he begins to hear <em>himself</em> over the headphones; offering a stunted and heavily interrupted form of breathing. No... Sucking? Gagging.</p><p>Hissing expletives Yusuf's eyes shoot to Nile, who is blessedly still sleeping. Pulling the laptop in closer, Joe's whole bottom half twitches. Nicky's hair is still long, draping messily away from his face as he stretches and shakes in the frame. His jaw starts working, his teeth grinding, muscles twitching around his eyes, and Joe knows what comes after this - has tasted it enough times. That's when he watches his own dark fingers, quivering with effort, slide up over Nicolò's chin. It's the only bit of himself he has seen throughout the whole thing, and he finds himself counting his own damnable rings.</p><p>The breath he lets out when he watches those digits dip into a welcoming, if a little incoherent, mouth is almost rib-shaking. It's as though he feels the ghost of a tongue on his own tips as he, frustrated, grips the edge of the table - rubs his own thigh. He doesn't need to see where the hand goes after it pulls back, he knows all too well, and Nicolò's eyes snap wide for a moment, but the <em>sound</em> he makes...</p><p>Joe snaps the laptop shut. Plunged into darkness, he starts rubbing the sockets of his eyes furiously. Yanking out the headphones and tossing them away, Yusuf needs to take several deep breaths before he can look around again. The heat in his cheeks, in his dick... there's not much he can do with it. Cold showers and masturbation hardly amount to the same thing. Looking down at his clear arousal, he smiles, feeling a little unhinged if he is being honest with himself. This is a game Nicky has <em>never</em> played before, and Joe can't seem to decide whether he likes it. It's rather brazen.</p><p>It takes some time before Yusuf feels calm enough to return to bed, sidling in beside Nile like a married man caught returning home too late from a mistress. His bunk-mate stirs, and rolls onto her back to look at him, sheepish as he is.</p><p>"I'm sorry. I woke you." He offers his arms and finds himself both weighted and buoyed  by how quickly she takes up the gift of his comfort. He closes his eyes, but does not drift off into sleep. The woman he holds seems altogether too tense to be doing so either.</p><p>"You looked scared, Joe." Nile whispers, and she is twisting the rings on his fingers, round and round and round.</p><p>"To my core, Nile." And when he feels her head pull back to look up into his face, he sighs and hugs her tighter, "I have faith, but only a fool does not also have doubt... Every death brings fear. What if it is our last?"</p><p>"Nicky?"</p><p>"You too, little one." He strokes at her bonnet gently, daring to open his eyes and look at her.</p><p>"I'm too new, remember?" A cocky expression, just a touch too nervous to be convincing.</p><p>"And I'm too old for such complacency." He offers one of his cheeky smiles, and feels it is about as convincing as her bravado.</p><p>"I'm sorry." She states firmly, her chin settling back down onto his chest, for which he is exponentially relieved, "I was sloppy. Won't happen again."</p><p>Taking an unsteady heaving breath, Joe is nodding, "Ditto."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Third Is Enough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's time to revisit that point about patience and boredom. When a person's time is arguably infinite they certainly can and do learn to live with it in a manner no mortal ever will. Not for leisure, though, nor self-realisation, not even in some lofty pursuit of enlightenment (in fact, it's <em>particularly</em> not <em>that</em>). No, they learn to live with it for one very simple reason; they have <em>absolutely no other choice</em>.</p><p>When Death turns a blind eye, learning to live with life is... Well, it's a necessity. It must be chosen and actively re-learned over and over and over. Throughout every millennium, century, decade, even in a single year a person has to choose living as the better option. It will never be difficult to find an immortal who has struggled with ennui, despair, guilt, loneliness, regret, but the ones that find joy and beauty in life's dogged persistence? They have spent more time than any person can imagine just trying to find that. And even longer struggling not to forget it again and again and again... It's important to note, then, that Yusuf al-Kaysani is a <em>happy</em> man.</p><p>His joy is something he came to through innumerable hardships and pains, griefs and agonies, disappointments and cruel truths. He <em>has</em> suffered, and often suffers still, but even now he knows there are things he takes for granted. In times like these when days have turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and months into- He is reminded how people are particularly aggrieved by <em>loneliness</em>, and that Booker was (as he often has proven to be) <em>right</em>. Joe never did much of any of it <em>alone </em>and, in fact, he is not very good at it.</p><p>Nile, on the other hand, is not very good at <em>waiting</em>. Not yet. At some point the whole damned thing works through her very last nerve and, threatening to make her own stupid signal, she up and leaves. Even in her absence she valiantly provides amusingly comforting incessant strings of alerts and expletive-riddled texts for days upon days. Until she doesn't. Only able to offer infinitely distant memories of similar frustrations (which honestly seemed to annoy her even more), Joe thought it best to let her vent the steam. He has the patience to know that everything is going to end some time (even Nile's irritation), but there is a silence now in her absence that engulfs. That's when the video comes.</p><p>It is the only missive to arrive in <em>days</em>. From anybody. Long and pregnant with harsh memory, Joe watches from a solitary huddle in some dark far off corner, at an utterly ungodly hour, holding a tablet. It would have been a relief to see it, if the whole thing wasn't also burdened by the knowledge that <em>something</em> must be keeping them all silent. Something must be happening. The footage illuminates Yusuf's exhausted face, but for all the lights in the world his expression would say he is cradling shadow. Now, Booker can sleep anywhere, anytime, anyhow, but Joe? If there isn't another person breathing beside him, near him, somewhere close by, he finds it nearly impossible to close his eyes. </p><p>There is finally an answer, though, to some of the questions he has been mulling. The cameras, for one. They're Nicolò's sniper scopes. As technology developed to the point of near constant surveillance, even <em>they</em> took to recording everything. It had proven exponentially useful, of course. The footage could be reviewed at a later date to spot familiar faces and scan suspicious crowds. Joe thought, perhaps, someone had just <em>forgotten</em> to turn them off. Although, that hardly seemed to be the case this time.</p><p>There is no audio, so no wires, no bugs (which Joe figures must be how the last one had had sound). Though it's not like he needs it. He <em>remembers</em> this one, breath for breath, drop for drop, and it makes his stomach knot. So much about the angles make sense now, too. After all, the cameras had still been attached to guns. Which is also why he now see's Nicky from the end of a barrel. There is a moment of entirely rational panic at that, before it becomes clear the stock is being used like the foot of a cane, and Nicky is holding on for support. A second of amusement is also provided by the unflattering view, straight up the nostrils.</p><p>It is no longer obvious, though, <em>why</em> Nicky has sent this one, this <em>particular</em> one. The filming itself is clearly an accident, as a violent jolt makes the footage break-up just as another likely turned the camera on. When the digitized image regroups, Yusuf sees himself pressing his lover heated and heavily against a wall. Their visage together is filthy, and bloodied, and Joe groans at how <em>old </em>he looks. Nicky's mouth is making the shape of his name, over and over in a loop, but Joe just kisses him; wide mouthed, breathless, desperate, incoherent. Even the unstable and rocking camera shows fingers shaking as they scatter over Nicky's torso, his arms, his neck, his face. The memory of grubby fabric makes Joe's fingertips tingle, cool flesh through bullet holes.</p><p>Nicky, knuckles white, grips tightly onto the front of his partner's sweater. He's eating Joe up, just as much as Joe is digging into him, and dark fingers finally reach scalp. Everything stops, or rocks, the camera unstable and twisting, Joe can still hear his own throttled whine even in the silence. Heaving into each other's mouths, foreheads pressed together, Joe sickens with the memory. There was so much<em> blood</em> caked to the back of Nicolò's head it literally made the hair brittle. Even now, just watching himself touch it, Yusuf shivers. The echo of it is on his hands, even the smell of iron somehow still <em>fresh in</em> his nostrils. This is right after Merrick.</p><p>Mortified, furious, and overwhelmed with relief, two men come together in quaking embrace. Yusuf has never found the words to surmise the brink of devastation that a single second of doubt brings, every time. He has called it 'fear' to Nile, but that is too small a word for seeing one's whole world being torn to shreds by something more absolute than shrapnel. And the nature of their lives means it doesn't happen the <em>once</em>. Existence ends and comes screaming back over and over, and even though it is <em>horrific</em> it is also something they will choose to do again later; just to try and put a little good into the world. The camera spins because one of them has kicked the gun. They have always fought for what they think is right, and always will, it is the destiny they forged together but... sometimes a man grows tired.  </p><p><em>Why</em> has Nicky kept this one? The gun clatters to the floor and stained shoes are the only view for a moment. Yusuf breathes. There is a flash of their shoddy London safehouse and the bedroom door Joe has closed (and bolted). A slow lurch then brings the grubby tiles of a sad little bathroom into view. The fatigue is plain in Nicky's frame as he allows himself to be lead towards the shower.</p><p>Now, it's never easy watching somebody else crumble. There is discomfort, stupefaction, empathy and, quite frankly, panic. So the act of watching yourself or the person you love crack and shatter over something as impersonal as an electronic device? 'Unbearable' is too weak in sentiment. Joe can only hold his face tight, eyes locked on the screen with fingernails digging into cheeks, utterly frustrated in seeing his past self fail to <em>hold</em>, <em>kiss</em> or do a better a job of <em>comforting</em> Nicky. Instead video-Joe is stepping away, and starting to mess with the damnable taps. Holding onto his disconsolate shudder, Yusuf aches to witness Nicolò standing <em>alone</em>.  With his back to Joe, fresh tears are being rubbed from eyes whilst everything is caught entirely on camera. Is this the <em>why</em>?</p><p>Yusuf never saw any of this, not how Nicky's shoulders shuddered, nor how his breath came in pained heavy bursts. No, at the time he was too caught up with the <em>fucking faucet</em>. The tears are falling for a reason he knows, even if they are hard to see. After all, they have both cried <em>many</em> times for Andy; mourning her loss of spirit, of faith, of hope, but praying in their own ways that they might see a spark return to their beloved chosen sister, one day. However, in a shoddy British bathroom covered in his own blood, Nicky is simply mourning <em>her</em>. She is finally something they will one day be again - mortal. He mourns the loss of the entirety of her, forcing it out in private, forcing it to be felt before she can see any of it, and Joe moans at the sight. Nicky reaches round to grip at his own elbows attempting to console himself. It is a simply desolate habit he even has in his sleep, and Joe's chest hurts to see it and be unable to wrap himself around it. </p><p>Yusuf hardly notices himself stepping back up to Nicky, so utterly pained as he is by the visage of his partner's misery. Lost in the way Nicolò almost seems to be rocking like a child. In fact, not until hands are working over Nicky's chest, hugging him from behind, does Joe even realise his past self has stopped playing with idiotic temperature dial on the wall. Nicolò jumps a little, gasps, and pulls his broken face back together in a blink. Joe hisses through a string of choice expletives at the sight. How quickly the mask went up. What stark a reminder of how good Nicolò is at shutting things down, closing things out, of <em>disappearing</em>. As a form of instinctive self-preservation, so ingrained, it has remained the same from his 30th year to beyond his 930th, and Joe is angry with himself for missing it. Even if, at the time, he had the vacant stare of a dead man burned onto his retinas; bits of brain mingling with rubble all over the floor.  </p><p>A hand trails up and grinds in at the roots of Yusuf's hair through the footage, and the Yusuf sat alone mirrors the touch of his lover's. Head turning, Nicolò is kissing him with clumsy lips and insistent hands. The arms over Nicky's chest pull tighter, and Joe distantly remembers the taste of salt... It floods back. He hadn't <em>missed</em> it, hadn't missed the grief. There were just no words to fix it. So, he hadn't tried. Instead he sees himself turn Nicky towards him, and goes down on his knees. Not for the first time Yusuf looks like a man in worship.</p><p>Untying Nicky's boots, he helps him to step out of them onto bare feet. Leaning down, he kisses at ankles, and unsteadily strokes skin as he pushes a trouser leg up over a shin. The panting stretch Nicky makes is something Joe never saw back then, but now he sees the involuntary shudder his own fingers elicit, from cupping the softest skin at the back of a knee. Then he is reaching up and unbuckling a belt, divesting his lover of even his breaches, kissing at knees and nuzzling weightily at thighs. Nicolò tugs at the shoulders of Joe's sweater and he lets himself be stripped of it. Up on his feet again, nose to nose, brow to brow, lip to lip, he guides Nicky round and under the steaming water. A shirt is soaked, and a pair of trousers made sodden as their tongues slide and their hands collide at the back of Nicky's head. It cannot be seen from this angle, but Yusuf remembers how the water ran red down the drain. </p><p>The glass wall of the shower is soon steamed up and streaming, the view obscured of its finer details. However, there's no mistaking when Nicky shoves Joe's trousers down. No space between them, Yusuf remembers the intimate movement of hands, the hitching of breaths, the heat of skin being cleaned. At some point he sees himself turning Nicolò round, and the way they move, the way they stumble- it makes heat bloom from the back of his neck to the root of his thighs. Then he's watching himself walk away <em>hard</em>, struggling out of soggy boots, and kicking away trousers that had bunched up around ankles; out of the bathroom and out of frame.</p><p>There's only Nicolò then, still in the shower, head low and arms on the wall. For a while nothing changes, but slowly the colour of his torso shifts, muted grey fabric lifting to reveal pale skin. The t-shirt is tossed away as he leans back under the faucet, and Joe sees himself toeing back across the tiles. Dumping several bottles in the sink, he keeps one in his hand as he tugs off his rings and necklace to leave them by the taps. Then, he returns to the water. Their bodies slide back together, wide chest to broad back, and Joe remembers giving Nicky the bottle - though it was impossible to tell he had with all the steam. Back then Yusuf had known what <em>he</em> wanted, but had not presumed the same of Nicky. The gesture thus made it <em>Nicolò's</em> choice.</p><p>The kisses between them now grow long, languid, full of gasping breaths like men drowning. Joe can see his hands running over exposed thighs, stroking up an open chest, gripping a sharp jaw with not a care for if it might cut. And when Nicky reaches down to stroke himself, Yusuf is eager to get there first, to do it <em>for</em> him. The way Nicolò's body arches into that touch... The Joe who can only sit and watch palms his hardening cock and closes his eyes. That hardly stops it though, with lids tight shut he can picture what he had taken in hand, can watch his thumb roll knowingly over foreskin as fingers squeeze shaft, drag tightly all the way down to the root; can almost feel Nicky squirming against his heat.</p><p>When Yusuf opens his eyes again, he can see himself pleasuring Nicolò, and there are so many sounds he wishes he could hear. Little gasps and whines, the grinding of teeth, the keen of a good stroke. Joe may miss the bottle opening but not at all how the contents is used, as Nicolò moves to reach behind himself. A trail of kisses are laid down Nicky's spine as he spreads lubricant where it is needed, and pushes it inside himself with, what Joe remembers lovingly, as shaking fingers (because Nicolò's hands are intensely, perfectly steady with everything and everywhere else). Yusuf even takes over that, though, wanting any pleasure this man will feel to come directly from him. Hands back on the wall, it doesn't take long for Nicky to start pushing back, and nodding his head for more than just hands.</p><p>Joe remembers sliding inside with closed eyes and a heaving chest, pressing hard against Nicky's back and grinding his hips at the sheer tight and blissful heat. It throbs through him, even now, but the video does even more. It lets him see how Nicolò's whole spine ripples, and his shoulders judder, and his head rolls back - even if it's just a shape, a silhouette of skin, there's no mistaking the pleasure he'd elicited with his own dick. It's enough. Joe loosens the chord on his sweats and reaches inside. It's embarrassing he thinks, pressing his head against the wall, but he continues to watch, alone and lonely.</p><p>It's a slow making of love for the most part, something intended to console. Joe has the time to work himself to full hardness, to bring himself to shivering, creeping waves of rapture - matching the pace of the bodies onscreen. He can tell when Nicolò is close, because he always can now. It's the way he pushes back, wanting things a little firmer, faster... and Yusuf also knows exactly what Nicky needs to cum, and cum well. It's not particularly elegant, or graceful, as hands scrape across the glass and their bodies shift. It's rather gratuitous, in fact, and Yusuf finds himself blushing as Nicky's naked body presses up against the divider. With distracted and restless judders his arms, chest, even knees wipe away steam. Joe had required the wall at his back, though, with the hard shift in the beat serving as enough of an explanation as to why. Nicolò's cum splatters out amongst the condensation on the glass, and is washed away moments later; Yusuf's covers and stays on his hand.</p><p>Always quiet in climax, Nicky's face is where the beauty lingers, the picture of dazed and dumb is right against the glass, mouth agape like a goldfish. The expression is such that Yusuf giggles (surprised to feel tears rolling down his own cheeks as he does), but the video doesn't seem to be ending. Watching himself spreading kisses over shoulder blades, Joe recalls that he did not finish <em>with</em> Nicolò back then. It seems to take his lover just as much time to realise the same thing. He's twisting then, pulling Yusuf into a tight embrace, and the kiss he offers looks sloppy at first, all tongue and teeth.</p><p>Joe closes his eyes when he sees his arm wrap around Nicky's shoulder, the other snaking into the arch of his back. It's overwhelming to remember the feel of Nicolò's hand, the warm press of a tummy to his, because that is how he finished that day; in heavy embrace, from a touch somehow both adoringly tender and unrelentingly firm. His orgasm breaking over cherished fingers as they clung to each other like their lives depended on never losing the grip. He rocks forward at the ghost of Nicky's hand working up from the base of his spine into the roots of his hair, pulling his face in so tight they could breathe nothing but each other's air. He kisses Yusuf through it, never allowing more than an inch of space to come between their bodies. His eyes fixed on Joe's lips, his throat, his face, watching it like a sunset. A piece of heaven on earth. But even then, even when they are both shaking and soaked and satisfied, the video still does not end.</p><p>Instead, Nicolò pushes Yusuf under the water, because it appears as though it is his turn to step out. Joe makes a hungry and hurt sound at the sight of his lover's naked body walking into frame; his sharp angles and soft stomach. As he turns to peruse the contents of the sink, Joe even gets to see the lovely round shape of his ass. Whatever Nicky is looking for is missing though, and the man wanders out of the bathroom entirely. Yusuf is left watching himself lean into the water, and utterly sagging under the weight of something un-carriable. Grief. As raw now as it was then, Joe wipes away fresh tears for Andromache, but wonders; what else did Nicky want him to fucking <em>see</em>?</p><p>Feet come padding back by the camera, and in his hands Nicolò is carrying Yusuf's hairbrush and comb. Scooping a single bottle from the sink, he steps back into the shower. Quick, comfortable and practiced, Joe can see the twisting and then pinning back of a section of hair with the comb. Soon after Nicky is brushing, tip to root; working the muck out of Joe's caked and curly locks slowly, and in absolute silence - using the conditioner where he may. When Joe suddenly falls to his knees, sobbing, Nicky just sits down, back to the glass and pulls the inconsolable up to his chest. He keeps on brushing, and separating, brushing, and separating. Until finally the tape ends.</p><p>Staring at an empty screen, Joe cannot exactly remember anymore <em>how</em> or <em>when</em> he taught Nicolò to brush his hair. The pieces of it are so abstracted and infinitely distant. The only proof they have that they invested the time is that Nicky still does it; even when Joe himself has not thought to. It overwhelms him then, how much Yusuf <em>misses</em> Nicolò. Not just the body that carries him, or the pleasures that brings. No, he misses his words, his thoughts, his motions. He misses that hairbrush, and the thousand other little things that make up their life - their routine. He wants to cuddle up on a sofa and let Nicky read under his arm, he wants to cook together, or make the bed - tucking in corners whilst discussing the resilience of city pigeons. Yusuf realises he knows the <em>why</em> now.</p><p>People always mistake intimacy for sensuality, feelings of obsession for blind dumb lust. They are aspects, certainly, but not definitions - and not for everyone. Acts of affection, of <em>devotion</em> are not grand, they are small, and close, and filled with patience. They are the wife carrying her veteran-husband on her back because he no longer has legs, or the mother of a deaf son turning up music she doesn't even like because he can feel it through his feet; they are minds changing after difficult conversations, and the movement of condiments across a table to ensure everyone has what they prefer. There is more <em>love</em> in that <em>hairbrush</em> than in any single fuck. Nicky is <em>missing him</em>, and Joe thinks this may be more of a comfort for Nicky than for him. In fact, this one hurt to see...</p><p>Pulling out his phone, Yusuf sends a single word, wiping the snot from his nose with the back of a hand; "<em>Basta</em>."</p><p>Enough. That is simply enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Death Comes for Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dozing, because it's the only kind of sleep he can get, Yusuf jerks awake. The burner is ringing, and he fumbles the buttons a few times before managing to pick up.</p><p>"Yah?" He coughs out, stopping mid-rub of the eyes when he hears the person on the other end of the line.</p><p>"I'm with Nile." It is a voice he in no way expects to hear.</p><p>"Booker?" Joe's whole body reels with static, tensing with dread, and affection, lingering disappointment, and regret, all of it battling to scream something, <em>anything</em>, at a man he has not laid eyes on in 37 years; he opts to say nothing.</p><p>"She's fine. Went dark on me a few weeks ago." Joe knows Nile never stopped talking to Booker, they <em>all</em> do, it is the only thing that somehow made the whole mess bearable; every Thursday just like clockwork, "Figured she could do with the company..."</p><p>Yusuf remains silent, because everything running through his head seems too happy, too bitter, too warm, too cold, too... too everything really.</p><p>"You can't come in, Joe." Booker sighs, as though expecting nothing better - which is its own particular ache, "They've got you spotted."</p><p>Nodding, Yusuf finds practicality is an avenue they can both walk at least, "How long have I got?"</p><p>"Not long. Hours. <em>Maybe</em>. Surveillance is good, but Nile blew her cover setting it up. She couldn't get back in without risking-"</p><p>"Civilians first." Joe agrees, as he moves from the cot to begin scorching the earth of their footprints, "Plan?"</p><p>"You're bait, to keep them looking the other way, but he's coming for you. " Yusuf's strong intake of breath makes his body lurch upright and he entirely loses focus; that <em>means Nicky</em>, "It'll take maybe 3 days. Can you handle it?"</p><p>That means <em>capture</em>, nodding entirely to himself a pit opens wide in his stomach, "No choice, is there? Had worse."</p><p>"Yeah..." Booker breathes, and Joe can picture his sullen eyes, his worried expression through the silence, "The radio chatter says soon. Might be better to get taken quietly? He'll find you."</p><p>"Okay." Joe hits the wipe function Booker himself set up on the laptop, "Sebastien?"</p><p>"Hm?" Swallowing hard, he lets a bit of warmth will out.</p><p>"Thank you." Licking his lips, "And Nile, I didn't know how-"</p><p>Booker interrupts, "The wisdom of age comes at the expense of youth, <em>old man</em>."</p><p>Joe can't help the ripple of laughter, it covers the yawing ache of knowing Book still teases, "Oh, so you're a poet these days?"</p><p>"Finally been reading your books." Booker chuckles back, such a deep sound even for its smallness, "She'll see you soon?"</p><p>"You too, brother?"</p><p>Two hours and thirty-six minutes. That's how long he got.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They scoop one of Joe's eyes out on the third morning. It has entirely grown back in the hours since, but he keeps the lid tight shut so they can't see. He is covered in his own blood and various viscera, even though there's not a scratch on him under any of it. His body still offers its own anticipatory responses though, shivering like the victim that it is, flinching away from the threat of pain. Even when he breathes, makes his mind an island surrounded by open sea, the searing hot metal that touches his feet makes him scream. He just doesn't quite think it's real.</p><p>Of course they want information out of him, but what they want to know tells Yusuf more than he can ever tell them; the sheer amount of people being looked for, how their power structure is in tatters, that the militant foreign force behind the coup has been broken up for over a month. None of the men around him can agree on who is in charge either, taking it in turns to torture him out of frustration rather than with any real skill or discipline. In fact, Joe is certain they have killed him twice, and that a lack of water is soon to cause death number three. They are, to put it bluntly, bad at this, and egocentric incompetency makes dangerous men of them all - eager to egg each other on or turn at the slightest provocation.</p><p>An extraction plan that doesn't kill half the town was always going to take some time, then. So, Joe understands. He understands that the less he knew about it the better, but it still stings to think they finished the job and he had no idea. Stewing alone in his safehouse, they had done it all without him. How long had he been made? How long have they been holding this off, just trying to protect him? And how long until Nicky gets here?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It's dark when Yusuf hears the start of it. Thuds. Bodies dropping. Three or four in quick succession somewhere overhead. Sniper. The proximity of it means <em>Nicky</em>. It means Nicolò knows <em>exactly</em> where in this godforsaken compound he is heading. It's a signal, it reads 'on my way', and Joe finds himself smiling. Eventually the firing back starts, and Yusuf guesses it's at about fourteen dead men.</p><p>Then everything becomes a jumble of yelling and gunshots, of feet against soil. Voices drop off minute after minute until half a dozen terrified little men come tearing into Joe's 'cell' (really it's a mud hut), clamouring about a madman in the trees. Too late, Yusuf catches himself giggling in his water-starved delirium, and finds a knife at his gut. A quick ruddy plan is made to threaten his life in exchange for their own.</p><p>"Bargaining already?" He scoffs feeling giddy and almost manic, as he uses their own language much to their surprise, "Give it a go. See how far it gets you."</p><p>That unsettles the two by the door and, stepping away from their posts, they start insisting on running instead. The one with the knife screams more orders that no one wants to listen to, and the last few peek out of windows in bewildered terror. So distracted by their own panic, none of them actually notice the door swing silently open. Nicky's bloody sword glimmers in the moonlight and Joe watches him heave, recognising feral and furious by the arch of his back; a shoulder disjointed, it shifts as he <em>heals</em>.</p><p>Nicolò has never appreciated the comparison to an Angel of Death, but Yusuf has never thought of anything more terrifyingly apt. His first, and lasting impression, has always been a maddening, deadly and righteous <em>thing</em>. The man with the knife seems to entirely agree, abandoning his plan to bargain by pushing his blade straight up into Yusuf's guts. The wind rolls out of him in one wrenching hyuk, and the angle is so <em>good</em> it drives up into a lung. The man doesn't live to see if he managed to kill anybody, of course, a sword is skewering him dead to the wall in less than the blink of an eye. Nicolò leaves him dangling from the metal, snarling as he turns on the rest of the room - his own body now between Yusuf and the danger. </p><p>The gunfire that follows is blinding. Nicky taking twice as many bullets as he fires back. Every shot he takes brings a man down, and in such close quarters their blind panic proves to result in more friendly-fire than anything else. It is quick, it is bloody, and then it is over. The silence that falls in the immediate aftermath proves haunting. Always is. The wind blows away souls like the uncaring thing that it is. The world never blinks. Then Nicolò is rushing forward and Joe is falling into him, blood seeping between teeth.</p><p>"I think he's killed me, heart." Yusuf chortles as unerring fingers pull out a switchblade and work to sever his bindings, "Impressive really. It's the first thing he did right with that knife." His whole body spasms around the blade still deep in his flesh as his arms spring free, and he lurches against Nicolò's shoulder, "I'm going to pass out. Can you wait to see me?"</p><p>Looking into Nicky's eyes, they're still wide and wild and weary and wary, the adrenaline doing its work to keep him alert (to keep him deadly), but his voice is soft even in its breathlessness; "Always."</p><p>Joe pulls the knife himself, and dies with warm lips against his forehead. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He wakes up over a walking man's shoulder. His guts half healed, but still tender as he groans back into life. Nicky shifts the weight but keeps walking, his sword in hand, and all guns holstered. Yusuf distantly watches the dark shape of boots clomp, is absorbed by the weighted step of steady thighs. The terrain shifts beneath them from packed mud, to shoddy gravel, to uneven underbrush (mostly identifiable by the difference in sound). Only when Joe feels whole enough to take his own weight does he squeeze Nicolò's sides.</p><p>"As much as I enjoy the view..." He sighs.</p><p>Wordlessly, Nicky staggers to a halt and dips, allowing Joe to find his feet and straighten before rising back up - pulling off a set of night-vision goggles. Their hands fall so easily back into their rightful places; Yusuf's squeezing Nicky's shoulders, Nicolò's rubbing Joe's sides. When he starts shivering again, Yusuf winces, his body expecting more pain instead of comfort.</p><p>"Hi." One of them breathes though, leaning in (it hardly matters who).</p><p>"Hi." The other whispers back as their foreheads press together in the all-encompassing dark.  </p><p>"Are you okay?" They continue in hushed voices.</p><p>"Are you?"</p><p>"No, not really."</p><p>"Me neither." And the pair chuckle, together in fatigue.</p><p>"I can't see you, at all." Nicky's voice is silly and pouting, but Joe's thumbs can feel the smile on those impossible-to-see lips, and he pulls him in to a quick chaste kiss.</p><p>"I asked if you could wait." He points out, shuddering through another wave of muscle-memory fear, trying to be jovial.</p><p>"That you did, my love." Nicolò nods, and he shifts to pull his goggles back on whilst taking one of Yusuf's hands, he then leads Joe blindly into the deepest dark.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Joe sleeps for most of the two day journey. Nicolò driving them across country borders in the dead of night and taking naps in the front seat as he needs to. Yusuf wakes up more than once screaming, and cradling the imaginary remains of an eyeball in his palm, utterly convinced his face is drenched in blood. Even for beings such as they are, torture leaves its mark and, <em>fuck</em>, how Joe hates it.</p><p>When he's lucid enough to speak, they discuss the things he's missed; the job, mostly. How it ended, and why it took them so long to come for him; Quynh refusing to let Andy endanger herself, Nicky being unable to extricate himself from his initial position sooner, Nile going AWOL, and then Joe mentions <em>Booker</em>. Nicky stammers, unsure, a little lost, still so... <em>guilty</em>. Apparently, Book was just- <em>there</em> doing what he always does, <em>whatever works</em>. Returning to the fold, he had been fundamental in organising Joe's retrieval. He had <em>helped</em>, without needing to be asked, and neither of them know what to do with that, the weight of it... So, they churn on it, give it a further thinking as they hold each other's hands over the gearstick.</p><p>They had rescued Booker, from Quynh, all those years ago because Nicolò believes suffering in the past does not justify the torment of another in the future. Booker had <em>returned</em> to his exile, though, because atonement is a process and <em>forgiveness</em> is a tricky business (and not always in the way one might think).</p><p>Booker has never been a <em>stupid</em> man. Quite the opposite, in fact. What he knows could fill libraries, and with the potential centuries he has ahead it could spill over into oceans. And that's honestly what made it all the worse. Booker <em>knew</em>. He knew <em>Yusuf's</em> fear has never been the <em>cage</em>, it has always been the absence of Nicky within it. <em>So much</em> of the shape of Joe's heart had been shown to Book, including exactly where he himself sat inside it, and still...</p><p>So, a <em>century's</em> penitence had come from a raw piece <em>rage</em> within Joe (Nicky had suggested merely two decades, Nile had been happy with just the apology). Sending him away was more than just a decision they made <em>for</em> him, though. Booker's acceptance of the sentence was acting <em>proof</em> that he understood, that there was hope for them to once again be whole, that he would earn back their trust one day, that he was and is simply <em>willing.</em> It had seemed relatively reasonable, at the time, but foolishness is often mistaken for wisdom, and Yusuf will readily admit that he is the greatest of fucking fools.</p><p>It had taken him <em>so long</em> to understand why Nicky had forgiven Booker on the <em>very day</em> of his betrayal... A sense of nobility had nothing to do with it, nor pity, nor a view to 'rise above' (such sentiments, honestly too self-satisfied and <em>ugly</em> for a heart such as Nicolò's). No, it was because he could see, already, something that Joe would remain too angry for, for decades. <em>They</em> had <em>failed Book</em>, and monumentally so. Not through a series of rushed, selfish, <em>desperate</em> decisions, skewed by inescapable loneliness and pain, but through <em>decades</em> of wilful ignorance and voluntary <em>neglect</em>. Their <em>complacency</em> in their abundance of time. Without <em>thinking</em> they had somehow planned to simply <em>wait </em>Booker<em> out</em>. To just <em>outlive</em> his <em>pain</em>.</p><p>So, it bears repeating that atonement and forgiveness is a <em>tricky</em> business. That whilst Nicolò is closer now than he was a decade ago, perhaps even a week, he is still not quite prepared to forgive <em>himself</em>. And Yusuf? He is not at all ready to be <em>forgiven</em>. At least... that's what they tell themselves every time Nile goes out for 'fresh air' with her phone tucked up into her sleeve.   </p><p>They trundle quietly into a streetlamp-lit city at a terribly unsociable hour. The apartment building they pull up in front of is, as tends to be the trend for their safehouses, pretty shoddy. Emerging from the car, as quickly and quietly as he can, Nicky stores his equipment in the back, covers it properly. After that he carefully pulls Joe out of his seat and then under a sad little porchlight; finally taking a good look at him. Fingers push at a jawline, stroke the back of a neck, thumbs scrape the sides of eyes as Yusuf just holds on gently to Nicolò's elbows and lets him do it. He watches his lover's ocean-eyes, thankful that they will always be dark, and old, and <em>lovely</em>.</p><p>"Still me?" Yusuf teases, when Nicky eventually meets his gaze, and receives a kiss to the cheek - right on the scar he gained years before they became <em>this</em>.</p><p>"Still you." Nicolò nods, his smile small, barely the twitch of a lip really, but it's a smile that speaks more of home than any house will.</p><p>They head up. Their flat is somewhere on the third floor. Hand in hand, feet seem to drag up the poured concrete stairs. The metal bannister is cool to the touch, but Nicky's fingers are warm as he leads - pulling out keys. The door is red, but that's all Yusuf really gets to think about it before it flies out of Nicolò's grip and a woman barrels into them from within.</p><p>"Joe!" Nile's entire weight wraps around him and he stumbles back with an astonished huff.</p><p>She's blabbering apologies and thanks to the heavens, but her arms, and even her legs, are surrounding him in the fiercest of most welcome of hugs. Burying his face in her shoulder, he ties himself around her, hugs her right back, allowing Nicolò to guide them inside with the gentlest push to the hips. Joe finds he is also spouting jibberish-like apologies and faithful thanks as they look over each other's faces with hurried concern. When the woman finally slides off of him, gripping his arms tightly as she straightens herself, she starts looking like a calm soldier again and not a delighted but fraught little girl. Joe finds himself struck, as he often is when looking upon her, by how <em>young</em> she was when she died. Then his eyes are flying around the apartment looking for someone else.</p><p>"Where's Book?" Joe asks loud enough for anyone lurking in the side rooms to hear, hoping the anxiety he feels in no way touches his voice.</p><p>"Outside." Nile worries her lip, glancing at Nicky, "Didn't you see him?"</p><p>"No." Nicolò shakes his head, but steps up to hug her warmly.</p><p>Yusuf doesn't know why he does it, it's not time yet, but he dashes back out onto the balcony and looks, "Booker?"</p><p>There is nobody beyond the other darkened apartments. So, he tries to pummel down the sensation of being altogether disappointed. Not entirely sure, after all, what it was he was expecting. The night is dark, and breezy, and empty... Why should he assume that Booker would want to see him? He has every right to be angry.</p><p>Then a man steps sheepishly out from the opposite end of the walkway, and Joe thinks he must have run to him. He's pulling Booker in, giving him the tightest hug he can muster. What does it matter? What does any of it matter? Kissing eyes and nose and ears, he elicits the most delightfully overwhelmed little blush; one he hasn't seen in almost forty years. A brother is a brother. Practically bouncing around him, he checks the Frenchman's beard, his jacket, his shoes, notices a lack of alcohol on the breath. </p><p>"You are well, yes?" Unable to contain the joy, the relief, tears stream down his face, and he even squeezes Booker's cheek as an elder might when the man smirks, "You are well!"   </p><p>"I'm well." His voice is low, almost whispering, his ever-tired eyes brimming and bright even though they shoot awkwardly to the open door.</p><p>"And you've been reading?" Yusuf keeps touching him, because he doesn't know what else to do, "What have you liked? I can find you more-"</p><p>"Joe?" Nile's voice calls as her head pops out from the very same doorway, and she grins at both men when Yusuf takes Booker under his arm and drags him forward. She comes out to meet them, looking back inside only once before she focuses entirely on them.</p><p>"I need to apologise, man." She starts seriously, and Joe waves her hand to stop; she persists, "I lost my head. Left you alone on hostile turf. Then got fucking <em>stuck</em>. If I'd just-"</p><p>"You didn't <em>leave</em>." Joe grabs her by the ear and pulls her to his chest, pats her back, "You got <em>shut out</em>. That's it. <em>Nothing's</em> your fault. Agree?"</p><p>"That intel was the only thing we had, Nile." Booker mutters, as her eyes roam Joe's touchingly sincere face, his fingers reaching for her but not quite connecting - Joe notices, "Without it we wouldn't've..."</p><p>"See?" Yusuf gestures to Booker, "Agree."</p><p>Nile opens her mouth, but swallows whatever it is she is about to say when Joe shivers uncontrollably and with a heavy groan. Shaking his head, he tries to clear himself of the thing, but it's already made them all uncomfortable. Turning their heads, they look away, pretend nothing happened. All three come round instead to see Nicolò. Through the open door he is mulling about awkwardly behind a sofa, hands on a woven blanket-throw picking at loose threads. The silence is aching, his eyes working over Nile, then Yusuf, and settling carefully on Booker.</p><p>Joe feels the stiffness as it comes over his friend, the straightening of shoulders, the dip of his head. There's a loss of words amongst them all as Nicky works his jaw, and Yusuf can hear Booker chewing at the insides of his cheeks. Never ending, it all seems, until Nicolò gives a gentle nod to the man he still cannot speak to. Not yet. It's as close as he can come to 'thank you', and though the air comes back between the group, it is somehow more suffocating than before. Booker extricates himself from under Yusuf's brotherly arm, squeezing his bicep, then moves to stand behind Nile because she has grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket.</p><p>"Okay." The woman smiles weakly between them all, "Well... We'll, um, get out of your hair."</p><p>Yusuf nods, giving a sweet little half smile that makes his eyes scrunch up. He watches his friends, his saviours, leave.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Yusuf dozes gathered up between Nicky's legs. A brush working slowly through his hair in care and quietness, the curls still wet from being washed. The warmth of the blankets, from Nicolò's chest, they lull him away eventually, and the comb dangling between his lover's teeth falls free when he too drifts into sleep. It is a rest that lasts all too small a time...</p><p>"Yusuf- Yusuf wake up."</p><p>Joe can't seem to work out his breathing.</p><p>"Yusuf-"</p><p>The whining sound that rips from his throat is painful. Movement won't come. His eyes fly open and all he sees is horrible black shapes, feels cold scraping at the side of his eye. The digging starts, and someone is sitting on his chest as they pull his eyeball from the socket. He wants to be screaming, bellowing, swinging his fists but <em>all</em> he can do is <em>whine</em>.</p><p>"Yusuf..." Nicolò's voice is close, right in his ear trying to sooth, slipping into the tongue Joe knows even in sleep, telling him to close his eyes, wiggle his tongue, jiggle his feet.</p><p>It's impossible to tell if the trembling Joe feels is real, or whether it is something moving deep within that might burst out of his gasping mouth and consume him whole. Hands cover his eyes and force them to close as lips plaster his forehead with warmth. So, he resolves to do as he's told, because anything has to be better than <em>this</em>... This absolute horror digging through his guts. He finds he can rub the roof of his mouth with his tongue, that his toes shift a little if he tells them to, that as the smallest bits of him awaken the rest of him slowly follows. Until he is choking and mortified and gripping Nicky's t-shirt so tight it creaks.</p><p>Legs wrap around Yusuf's waist as he is pulled into a full and rocking embrace, his voice hoarse as he pants through the panic he had not been awake enough to process. He curls inward, his legs under Nicky's as he buries his head in the darkness of the blankets, and warmth of his torso. Everything shaking and shifting... Until it isn't.</p><p>Fingers gently stroke over hair until Yusuf is ready, his face sweaty and eyes tearful when he finally looks up. Nicolò pushes beloved curls back from his forehead, kissing quietly as Joe tries and fails to find words to explain himself. Nicky just hushes him, those lips coming down over his eyes, his cheeks, his nose. Swallowing hard, Joe's shoulders shake and he presses palms to Nicolò's back, because he knows he doesn't really have to explain himself. There's already been two days of this.</p><p>"We haven't done that in some time, love." Nicolò coos, careful and quiet, nuzzling Joe's face further out into the open air, "Have we?"</p><p>Yusuf shakes his head, still unable to find anything worth saying. The <em>last</em> time had been nearly a century ago; psychological wounds proving to be the opposite of easy to heal. Finally, though, he manages to croak out how they had taken his eye. Rubbing his cheek furiously, he knows there isn't really any blood there. Nodding, Nicky kisses his fingers instead of his eyelid, and then Yusuf reaches out for him. That same hand snaking up behind Nicolò's head, the palm of it being littered with sweet affection as it passes.</p><p>"Not the kindest of reunions, is it?" Yusuf whispers as their faces press together in the dark, "After so long, I..."</p><p>"Hardly a blink." Nicky soothes, "There will never be a time when seeing your face will fail bolster me. Even through hardship you are living, and <em>here</em> with <em>me</em>."</p><p>"I want to <em>kiss</em> you." Joe's voice is so small he feels embarrassed, because one day... what if? What <em>if</em>? <em>What if</em>?</p><p>Nicolò's reply comes in the touch of his lips, the quick press of his tongue, and Joe's breath whispers to feel it. They're swift little pecks, gentle encouragement, teasing licks to remind of the taste. Only when Yusuf pulls their chests tighter together does Nicky let them become heavy, and wide, and full. Their legs tangle, the sound of fabric shifting almost as loud as their breathing. Panting, Joe asks for more, <em>more</em>, until Nicolò is shifting his weight and pushing him over onto his back.</p><p>Knees settle on either side, as Nicky's hands dig hard into the cushions at Yusuf's neck, and Joe lets himself disappear for a while. Lets himself be nothing but heaving lungs and aching kiss as hands pull at his tresses. The noses graze and the tongues slide, and his fingers slip up to the roots of Nicky's hair, so smooth and still a little damp. Never more thankful has he been for ears than when hearing his lover's breath shake as they come together. Joe's not surprised to find himself aroused when Nicolò begins to grind down over him. In fact, he groans for it, and the shift is quick. Their lips never parting, Nicky crawls back, spreads Yusuf's legs and pushes up between them. Thighs resting wide over thighs.</p><p>"More?" Nicky whispers right into his mouth, and even though Joe shivers violently, he is also nodding - Nicky's soft and loving eyes sharpen in the dark.</p><p>Hands slip down between their bodies, and Nicolò pushes passed Yusuf's waistband. When fingers find warm hardening cock, breath hitches between hungry mouths. Then there's the gentle <em>knowing</em> drag of nails against soft sensitive skin, and Joe's neck arches. Nicky has, over the years, mastered <em>this</em>. The slow tease of fingertips, with only a <em>touch</em> of hardness. It raises gooseflesh over Joe's arms, his thighs, his shoulders. There's always the careful swirling creep of it working closer and closer to the head, before he pushes the pad of a thumb right up and over the tip. It gets every nerve buzzing, makes every bit of it twitch.  </p><p>A grip comes in tight around the root of him, rubbing down into his pubic hair, before pulling Yusuf free of his underwear. Eyes rolling shut, that squeeze moves <em>up,</em> tight and steady as Nicolò circles his thumb. Only when Joe can bring himself to look down, does Nicky duck to drop spit over his dick. It makes the digits <em>slide</em>, and Joe can do nothing but squirm as those <em>nails</em> start drawing again. His hips writhe up in Nicolò's hands and the man starts pumping in earnest. Joe sucks on swollen lips, palms squeezing at temples, desperately wanting for so much <em>more</em>, whilst knowing exactly <em>this</em> can and has taken him into and beyond oblivion.</p><p>Nicky never stops hovering over him, their bodies curled and close, kissing between beats; he is utterly lost in observing his own hands doing their beautiful work. With quivering lips he lets Joe reward him via hungry teeth and seeking tongue. They're so tight under the blankets he can <em>feel </em>Nicky pushing against his ass, hips unconsciously grinding dick over taint, nudging balls. Heat floods through Joe's body to the point of near fever. Mindless and garbled, he grabs Nicky's jaw sharply, and dark <em>wanting</em> eyes snap to his as their foreheads crush together.</p><p>"More?" Yusuf pants, nodding desperately at his <em>own question</em> as Nicolò's head tilts, curious and bestial.</p><p>Things shift quickly again. One of the hands leaves him, even if the eyes never do - to slide up under his sweater. The trade off is an increase in pressure and uptick in beat, the lengthening of stroke. Nothing <em>stops</em>. Nicky works every inch of him, from base to tip over and over, circling the head so tight it feels like being inside something. The sweater rides up and up, exposing Yusuf's warm, toned chest, and Nicky suddenly abandons his view to take a whole nipple in his mouth and <em>bite</em>. Joe hurriedly yanks the whole thing off, tosses it aside. He is becoming increasingly, <em>astoundingly</em>, aware of fingers <em>scratching</em> up his chest - the transient <em>burn</em> of them digging into his flesh. None of it is enough, yet it is all too much at once. He's already starting to drip.</p><p>Nicolò's mouth does not seem satisfied with just chest either, and he begins to work down. Over stomach, he licks at abs and dips further to litter hips with sharp teasing nips. His hand comes up tight over Joe's other nipple just as he spreads his lips and swallows his dick. Yusuf almost cries out, choking, utterly unable to stop his hips bucking into the suck. Nicky moves. Shaking as his shoulder shifts under Joe's leg, he tries to hold them steady, pulling off to lick instead. His tongue circles and slides, comes in tight at the underside, tasting the pre-cum with whining approval. He's pushing at a bundle of nerves, it's so sensitive Yusuf swears - a long line of multi-lingual expletives that makes Nicolò huff out a chuckle. His breath is somehow both warm and cold as it gushes over skin. Then he's taking it <em>all</em> again, making a haven of his mouth that is truly incomprehensible, groaning at the taste of his love.</p><p>When it's shallow there's all tongue, a teasing of the twitching head into succulent wetness. It's the shift to consuming suck that drives Joe over. The tightness at the tip, the purposeful but infinitely controlled drag of teeth down the shaft. Nicky would never want that, but Joe? Oh, it <em>thrills </em>Joe. Breath coming quick and heavy, he's so <em>close</em> it's like dying. Nicolò reaches for his arm, pushes the hand firmly in at the base of his own skull, and Yusuf is grateful, licking his lips. Things shift, again.</p><p>Nicky's arms wrap under and then around Joe's thighs, his short nails digging into tender skin so roughly it might bleed - but never does. He's quivering as he stretches his neck forward, eyes rolling shut as Joe fucks up into his mouth as fast and <em>deep</em> as he <em>wants</em> to. Choked, gagging, he scratches up Yusuf's sides, down his stomach - <em>encouraging</em> (because Yusuf knows the difference). With jittering fingers he sweeps the curve of Joe's ass, and brings a heavy circling pressure to his taint. It doesn't let up, as Yusuf's beat spills over into the erratic. <em>He wants</em> it as much as Joe does. When Yusuf pushes up, remarkably far, Nicky groans, and that's it, the man cums. He cums into a mouth and <em>feels</em> it being swallowed. It is bliss, it is ecstasy, it is stars bursting to life and dying moments later.    </p><p>Eventually, Yusuf feels Nicolò's arm outstretch and he reaches for it, grips it tight. Massaging at the bicep, he offers reassurance and gratitude in the only language he can muster - touch. His softening cock is littered with kisses as Nicky pulls away, and when that face rises back over him, Joe can feel the heat of flustered cheeks, even taste himself on the other man's tongue. Breath broken and uneasy, Nicolò nuzzles into beard and shivers as Joe runs a heavy palm and the pads of his fingers up spine under his t-shirt. Yanking the man up, chest to chest, Nicky's eyes stutter closed as his cock meets an open hand that quickly squeezes around him through the fabric of his underwear.</p><p>Shaky, breathless, he whispers, "What do you want, Yusuf?"</p><p>He can hardly say. Just do it <em>again</em>, do <em>everything</em> and <em>more</em>, find the edge and this time ride it until there's <em>screaming</em>. He opts for, "Where's your bag?"</p><p>There is another soft chuckle before Nicky is rolling sideways, and Yusuf is quick; he grabs the back of Nicolò's shirt and forces the man to wriggle out of it before he can continue on his merry way. The body beside him dangles over the edge of the bed, and he hears the drag of fabric moving beneath them. Lifting unsteady legs, Joe pulls off his boxers and chucks them away. A zip tears open and the rummaging is swift. Nicky is settling back beside him moments later, and Joe hums approvingly as he slips an arm around his waist, and brings them skin to gloriously warm skin.</p><p>It is Joe's turn to kiss at open chest, to run fingers over hardening nipples, to hear Nicolò's form of quiet stilted approval. He adoringly strokes the back of his knuckles over soft belly and smiles against ribs. Legs curling together, Nicky with a drag of an ankle brings Joe's apart. Popping the lid of a bottle open he pointedly kisses Yusuf, then drips the contents over his own fingers.</p><p>Nuzzling into Joe's neck, he brings those slick digits under sack and starts circling hole, and Yusuf can't help the satisfied sigh. Rubbing absently up and down his lover's back, Joe shivers. Anticipating the slow push inside, it makes him lick his lips, close his eyes. He lets the man pleasure him all over again, only this time <em>he</em> shifts to also be palming hard ready cock. The <em>sounds</em> Nicky makes, right by his ear, are small and at the back of the throat, admittance to how much he <em>likes</em> what he <em>feels</em>. Joe's back arches, and he lets out quick heavy pants when Nicolò finally pushes inside; lets himself relax into the slow explorative curl and gentle brush of places within himself only Nicky gets to touch. It is deliberate, intensely intimate, and he is surrounded by the warmth of his heart as he works to widen him - from one finger, to two, to four.</p><p>When Nicky begins to nod, posing a wordless question, and Yusuf offers his own in return, things move again. Rolling on top, slipping back between legs, pushing up once again against spreading thighs, Nicolò works his underwear down. Joe loves the shape of him, watches with gentle eyes as he pours lubricant over himself and strokes slowly, covering completely. Whilst closing the bottle and putting it aside he kisses Yusuf, and <em>together</em> they reach down to take hold and guide him inside. The <em>feel</em> of being <em>filled</em> is indescribable, the shiver of it working through Joe's shoulders as he falls back gasping. Nicolò seems overwhelmed, too, by the slow work of being <em>consumed</em>. His arms shake uncontrollably as he holds himself over his lover, head tilting back to expose his throat as he takes the time to pump and grind, working it in until it is all the way to the root.</p><p>"-così <em>caldo,</em> Yusuf..." He manages to get out between reedy breaths and nasal gasps.</p><p>His hips circle and his cock shifts and Joe can hardly keep is eyes open, so he stops trying to. Instead, with the feel of warmth and girth inside of him, he litters Nicolò's chest, his neck, his jaw, his shoulders with kisses; runs heavy hands over every bit he can, until he reaches down with both and pushes hips back - drawing that sublime length out. Kneading Nicky's ass, he pulls him in again ever so <em>slowly</em>, both their jaws going slack when it all presses flush once more. <em>Oh</em>, Nicky's <em>noises</em>.</p><p>The man lets himself be lead out, and brought back in over and over for a time, foreheads pressed together, working his jaw in fragile silence. The aching spread of it makes Joe's toes curl. It's when Nicolò tilts forward, though, to slide hot slow tongue into Yusuf's mouth, that hips snap forward out of guiding grasp and he buries himself of his own accord. Silent expletives are bitten into Joe's lips as he <em>takes</em> it, legs curling up and being caught by ready if unsteady hands as the whole thing is followed by quick shallow uncontrolled bucks. Absolute fucking bliss.</p><p>It's the next real thrust, though, that elicits the sharp throaty whine from Yusuf that Nicky is <em>always</em> looking for. It stretches out into a level keen as he begins to actually, properly, truly <em>fuck</em> him. Fingers slide down over elevated thighs, and Nicolò keeps them hooked in close as he takes it slow and smooth. Hips grinding in thoroughly, filling Joe up so completely. And his hands hold tight to Nicky's face as they allow themselves to get lost in sloppy wet kisses of the incoherently pleasured. Their breaths coming quick and needy, in time with almost every beat.</p><p>At some point, Nicky shifts, rising up to let his legs stretch out beneath them, and the drop after that is something <em>blinding</em>. The swearing is <em>real</em>, and Nicolò buries his nose in Yusuf's beard as the air turns blue, to hide his self-satisfied smile before doing it again, and again, and <em>again</em>. <em>Quicker</em>. Joe's hands are everywhere as Nicky's mouth travels over open chest in search of something to kiss and lick and sink teeth into. To get <em>more</em> from his Yusuf if he can.</p><p>Nicolò likes it differently, though. With weighted knowing palms, Joe pushes his way down between shoulder blades, along chord. It's <em>pressure</em>, Nicky <em>likes</em>. A light kiss to the nipple might illicit some gratification, but a heavy full-mouthed, sweeping lick that pushes and presses and makes everything ache? That is <em>better</em>. Yusuf wants to make this better. Reaching the base of Nicky's spine, he plants a foot back on the bed. On the next thrust, Joe rolls hips up to meet it. Simultaneously, he pushes so forcefully against Nicolò's back that he can only thrust <em>higher</em> into him; no space to pull out at all. And there it is, the tell-tale grinding of <em>teeth</em>. Nicky's hands dig into Yusuf's ass and they fuck each other like that until his arms are violently shaking. Joe can feel the jaw working, face buried against his chest as Nicolò's bucking thrusts grow rough and uneven with the pulse of him throbbing larger inside.</p><p>Gasping and ready for the answer, he asks, "Close?"</p><p>The nod against his chest is stupefied and unsteady, and Yusuf pulls him up to his lips, still <em>so hungry</em>. Kissing him relentlessly, they share in exerted erratic panting as the throbbing swell of Nicolò goes ever faster. Joe reaches down between their swiftly rising and writhing stomachs, finds himself growing hard again just <em>knowing</em> what's coming. Then it's <em>there</em>, and he can feel the spill of warmth like the consumption of hot coco in winter. Can feel Nicky's orgasm squirting inside himself and squirms his hips, enjoying it all. It's been like this hundreds, no, <em>thousands</em> of times, and Joe knows that's the <em>beauty</em> of it, that it is <em>still</em> like <em>this </em>as he moves a lazy tongue over Nicky's arched and twitching neck.</p><p>"Nico- Nicolò, come- come here." Joe is gasping, taking himself in hand and running a sweaty palm up dripping back.</p><p>Swallowing, eyes roll, and nodding mindlessly Nicky pulls out, softening into his own hand as he goes where he is guided. Crawling up over Yusuf's stomach, the man below him sits up. Joe grabs for the bottle of lubricant and pours it over his almost-ready cock, rubs it down quickly. He knows he can cum again, and that he might give Nicky another moment of bliss before all this is over. It won't take long. Bringing a shaking hand into his own, he pours over <em>both</em> of their fingers. Together they reach behind Nicky.</p><p>Twined, they circle and push and wait for the <em>give</em> that causes a whole body convulsion for Nicolò. Gripping Joe's shoulder, his presses pale skin to dark and thoughtlessly just fingers himself under his lover's lead. Yusuf leaves forceful heady kisses over quivering hips, nuzzles into hair, licks at spent dick. When they are at two fingers each, he makes the shift. Leaving Nicky to tend to himself, and sliding that slickened hand round to press up against tender perineum. Circling purposefully, Joe stares up at Nicolò's vacantly entranced face. The sounds his lover is making are as though he has forgotten how to breathe. It doesn't take long for hips to start following Yusuf, for his flaccid dick to leak.</p><p>Joe draws Nicky upward, gets his ass into his lap and pulls knees in around ribs. He stares up at that face as he presses his cock against Nicolò's fingers, and gulps when the man takes him and leads him inside himself. It is like being squeezed by loving hands, like being buried inside a willing mouth. It is also unlike anything else at all, so <em>tight</em>, and <em>warm</em>, and unremitting. Yusuf buries his face in Nicky's chest for a moment, squirming where he sits, just letting himself <em>feel</em> it. It's Nicolò who starts to work his hips, a desperate hitch in the back of his throat as he does.</p><p>With controlled hands, Yusuf takes hold of Nicky's thigh, places a palm against his stomach. Instructs the man with only gentle pushes, to lean back, put himself at an angle. Gripping Joe's shoulder, then, he uses the other arm to support his weight as he goes back far enough. They're both breathless, exhausted, but this really <em>won't take long</em>. Yusuf spreads his legs a little, biting at cheeks, before he starts rutting Nicolò's hips <em>for him</em>. Slow at first, shifting the angle, getting it right; knowing he has when the legs wrapped around him give an involuntary shake. Nicky's head lolls back like it is far too heavy.</p><p>Words spill from Yusuf's mouth as his lover grinds, "That- that's <em>it</em>."</p><p>The pace they set together is quick, and soon Joe's hands are not needed; Nicolò is doing the work all on his own, chasing a feeling. Yusuf takes the chance then, bringing both hands between their bodies. Grabbing Nicky's cock, soft as it is, he spits on the head and starts stroking, caressing, teasing. Sliding underneath his sack with the other hand, he pushes fingers up against that same sensitive spot as before. Starts massaging it in time with Nicolò's exquisite beat. </p><p>"Fuck!" It's astounded and breathless, and to hear it makes Joe's hair stand on end, "... fuck, <em>fuck</em>."</p><p>The <em>feel</em>, the effect it has around his cock is <em>sublime, </em>and further words fall to the wayside as he pushes up into Nicky at the same time as he comes down. Everything is too sensitive and too stripped bare, everything so fast and aware. Nicolò cums <em>so quick,</em> all over his pumping hand with quaking thighs and a strangled whine, but he keeps bucking and grinding for Yusuf. When he spills it inside, their strained groans are like music. Didn't take long at all.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Tell me, then..." Yusuf sighs, fidgeting the blankets down around them into the bed, warm and safe and sated.</p><p>"I don't know." Nicky shrugs against his chest, fingers once more steady as they stroke  at bare skin, "I was reviewing some old footage, clearing hard-drives like Book-" His shoulders roll and he moves passed it, "I just found them."</p><p>"And you thought I would like them?"</p><p>"Didn't you?"</p><p>"I suppose..." Joe runs a hand through his beard thoughtfully, unable to say exactly how he felt about them, "I think... I would much rather watch us making breakfast."</p><p>"You <em>would</em>?" Nicolò laughs then a thought alights his face wonderfully, "I have a treat for you, if so!"</p><p>Nicky rolls away only a little, to grab his phone from the bedside table, and begins scrolling and tapping whilst Yusuf strokes his hair and muses aloud, "It was hard to see you so, and not <em>touch</em> you."</p><p>"Mm." Nicky nods, finding what he is looking for and stretching up to kiss Yusuf sweetly, before handing him the phone, "Security camera in Naples."</p><p>The video is warm, light streaming in from a distant offscreen window. The overhead view shows most of the room, and the focus does not shift to anyone in particular within it. Andy sits sleepily at a dining table, nursing a cup of coffee as she quietly reads a newspaper. By the stove Nicolò is cooking something in a pan that looks relentlessly tomatoey. And Nile sits on the counter beside him, talking animatedly, but mostly to herself. They're all poorly dressed, clearly only just on the cusp of waking, and Yusuf does not see himself on screen for quite some time.</p><p>When his self does appear, it is obvious he has only just fallen out of bed. Hair stuck up high on one side, he chuckles at the sight whilst Nicolò watches him in the phone light with a warm turn of the lips. Joe, in the tape, slides up behind Nicky and wraps himself around him, burying his head against collar bone and swaying slowly. He receives a kiss on the forehead for his troubles, and then his lover goes back to stirring the scarlet concoction, talking to Nile.</p><p>"Yeah." Joe sniffles even though he is smiling, "I like this better."</p><p>Nicolò takes the phone from him, and tosses it aside gently. Kissing his chest, he lets Yusuf pull him up tightly and rub lips over his hair. They sleep. Not soundly. They won't for some time. But they sleep.   </p>
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